Once more the seat of power ( for the moment), the great Panopticon of the Time Lords rings with the voices of the Council… and today, as on most days, a good portion of the Time Lords gathered generally try their utmost to avoid drawing the Master’s… the Lord President’s attention. The few who arebrave enough to cast a glance his way often find him either pacing the floor before the Lord President’s Chair or glaring down at them all like a mad priest from what he calls ‘that ludicrous pulpit’.
Today, the Lord President merely sits cross-legged and slumped on a table, watching osprey-eyed as men and women whisper together, shuffle cards or play Sepulchasm in the aisles.
He is waiting for the Doctor. The missing piece that will explain the puzzle they’d all been trying to solve. What has happened to Lady Flaminarixodaparcaftion, the former Kithriarch of the House of Paradox.
“Does anyone know if the Master, I mean the Lord President, intends to…”
“Yes, yes! Intends to what?”
“…intends to do something with that bit of the old Spaceport sticking out of what’s left of the ceiling? Surely they don’t mean to keep it stuck there indefinitely. Ever since the end of the War, what with all the debris winking about and landing Other knows where it’s been perched up there like a huge Tafelshrew dropping in a cobweb.”
“Well you’d better not talk about the Master that way, Pasmodius, or he might make it drop on you.”
“Pasmo has always had dung for brains; I don’t see how the Master making the fact an entendre could be such a grand improvement.” Nemontiarla says, her tiny voice entirely in agreement with her tiny face.